


Riding On

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Discipline, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A move to Louisiana does not please teenaged Sam and Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is spanking fic, pure and simple. Sam is 14, Dean is 18. If you don't like it, don't read it.

November 26, 1996

"We've been here for four freaking months!" Sam yelled, scowling. "You said this time we’d at least stay long enough to unpack!" He kicked one of the cardboard boxes on the living room floor to illustrate his point.

"That's enough attitude!" John said sharply. "Keep it up and you'll be cleaning the guns for the next week. I'm sorry, Sammy, but we're done with Utah, and it isn't doing us any favors to stick around. It's gotten so clean that I have to drive two days to get anything done and that's not fair to you and Dean."

 _Yeah, sure, it's not fair to perfect Dean to make him take care of screw-up Sam,_ the youngest Winchester thought bitterly. "What if I don't want to move?" he challenged belligerently. "I'm just starting to make friends…you know, smiling, acting like I'm not the awkward new guy in the school where everyone's known each other for the past six years, trying to build another life. And I'm sick of having to do it every six months just so you can chase your fucking ghosts!"

The minute he said it, Sam knew he'd gone too far. John Winchester didn't tolerate disobedience, questioning his authority, and certainly not swearing from either of his boys. He felt his father grab his upper arm, wrench him around and quickly administer four stinging spanks to his behind.

"Ouch!" Sam protested, even though he'd known it was coming and it didn't really hurt through his jeans…at least, not as much as it would over his briefs or, God forbid, on his bare butt.

"Go to your room and I'll be there in a minute," John said ominously, in that unmistakable someone's-in-shit voice. "Tell your brother he needs to go out to the garage and start packing up the bows and knives."

Sam glared and rubbed his arm as his father released him. He was trying to decide if it was worth saying something generic like "Fuck Utah anyway" or "I hate you" when his father delivered another swat to the seat of his pants. "Now, Samuel!" he barked, and Sam jumped to obey almost without thinking.

He slammed the door to the room he shared with his older brother as he entered, causing Dean to look up from his Weekly World News and swear softly. "Shit, Sammy, did you and Dad have another fight?" asked the seventeen-year-old, looking ready to bolt if necessary.

Sam shot his brother a nasty look. "He wants you to go pack up the bows and knives, Private Winchester," he snarled. "And it's Sam."

"Jesus, someone's PMSing," said Dean, giving Sam a hurt look that immediately made him feel guilty, even if he wasn't going to show it. "See if I try being friendly to your sorry ass anytime soon." He made his way out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Sam flopped down on his bed and sighed. He knew that he was probably going to get a spanking, and Dean hadn't been trying to get on his case about it—in fact he'd been surprisingly nice to Sam whenever their dad went off on him lately. But he didn't want to handle sympathy, especially from his older brother. He didn't want to look like a baby in front of Dean, even though he knew he sort of was.

His regrets were interrupted by a knock at the door, followed immediately by John stepping into the room. Sam sat up at once, keeping his eyes on the floor as his father took a seat across from him on Dean's bed.

"We need to talk about this attitude problem, Sammy," said John firmly. Sam stubbornly stared at the carpet, even though he thought he might get more than enough chance to look at the faded green in a few minutes.

John sighed. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "You need to look at me when I'm talking to you, Samuel Winchester."

Sam looked up reluctantly at the sound of his full name. His expression showed his discontent and unwillingness to have any sort of talk with his father.

“I’m not thrilled with that expression but that's better," said John. "Now I can flatter myself by thinking that you're paying attention to what I'm saying." Sam stared stonily, not smiling or reacting in any way to his father's joke. He didn't think it was really supposed to be funny. "Now, do you want to tell me what the problem is with moving?"

"I don't want to move," Sam said angrily.

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed, your face could have lit up the room when I told you," John replied sarcastically. "Now tell me why."

"Because you said we'd stay in Utah longer," said Sam. "You're moving us out after no time at all. Again."

"So this is about me saying we'd be in Utah longer?" John asked.

"Yeah," said Sam. "Although I don't know why I trusted you on that, since you're always lying to us and changing your plans. Guess I should know better." He was pissed, and he was afraid he might cry if his dad kept asking questions about why he was upset, and he was sick of being labeled the chick in the family. _Keep it on the offensive, blame him, he'll spank you, you can yell, and then everyone will sulk for a week and you won't have to deal with their shit,_ he told himself.

John flinched, proof that Sam's remarks were hitting home. "You know, Sammy, I'm trying to be a good parent here and listen to your side of it, but if you don't stop with that attitude I'll be tempted to just spank it out of you right now and ask questions later."

Sam shrugged and resumed his scrutiny of the carpet. But he also unconsciously reached for the edge of his pillowcase and began rubbing it in his fingers, a sign that he was nervous about his father's proposal.

"So, you're upset about leaving. You feel like every time you start to settle in and get used to the way things are, we pack up and move on. Is that right?"

"Yeah," said Sam resentfully. _Wow! He's repeating what I just said in the living room! And it's only taken him about ten years to catch on! The man's a genius._

"And you're saying that it's not fair to you to have to be constantly starting over, switching schools, and reshuffling your life to suit my hunting jobs."

"Well, it isn't fair!" Sam burst out, looking up in order to send hate-filled looks at his father. "I mean, I didn't ask for this! I didn't want to grow up moving around constantly, with a father who spends more time hunting demons than he does at home, with the most stable part of my life being my suitcase! I didn't sign up for this kind of sh—stuff," he amended hastily.

"No, you didn't ask for it, Sammy," said John heavily. "But, you know, neither did I. I thought my life was going pretty well, just over thirteen years ago. I had my own garage, I was married to the love of my life, and we had the two most beautiful boys in the whole world." His eyes glassed over, remembering something that he kept so close to his heart. Then they hardened and John Winchester the demon hunter was back. "And then I woke up one night and saw my wife die, pinned to the ceiling by something unnatural. And my life changed forever." He looked squarely at Sam. "And yours did too. Like it or not, Sammy, this is never going to be a normal family. Evil found us, and marked us, and we can either let it destroy us or fight it." He paused a moment before continuing. "And that may mean sacrifice, that may mean leaving behind normal and stable and safe. But if it means saving people, destroying monsters, and protecting my family, I don't really seem to mind."

Sam knew his father's words were true, but it still hurt. He'd known all along that normal wasn't an option, that begging and reasoning alike were pointless, but hearing it spelled out had an awful sort of finality to it.

"If I could have had another life for you boys, I would," John said softly. "That's a promise, Sammy. And if you ever feel that you need something more permanent, well, you know Jim has said before that you boys always have a home with him."

"No, sir," Sam said quickly, looking John in the eyes. "I don't want to leave you. It's just…it's hard. I mean, look at Dean. He's been to four different high schools and he's only a junior. And the last time I got all my stuff unpacked was two years ago in Iowa. It's just hard not knowing whether I'm going to come home and get told to pack my things, we're going to Nowhere, USA because there are several haunted cemeteries in the region, and if we're lucky we could be busy until next April."

"I know," said John. "And I wasn't going to tell you this, because I didn't want to get your hopes up, but unless something drastic changes, I think we'll be in Louisiana for the next eighteen months."

"Eighteen months?" Sam asked, disbelieving. "Really? Like, I'd get to finish junior high at the same school?"

"I'm not promising anything," John warned. "But we'll be just outside New Orleans, in the heart of spook country. There are more ghosts in the Deep South than there are people. And seeing as how we've never given it a try before…"

Sam swallowed. Even if his dad was exaggerating, that would probably be at least eight or nine months, or a year if they were lucky. A whole year in a city had started to seem like an unheard-of luxury. He gave John a small smile. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"I am sorry to move you again, Sam," said John sincerely. "It's not much fun for me either, believe me. But some things just have to be done."

Something about the finality with which he said that made Sam's spine tingle, and he remembered why his dad had been giving him the heart-to-heart. Ah, shit.

John caught the dismay that flitted over his son's face and tried to hold back a grin. "And that brings us back to the reason we're here," he said. "I hope you feel better after our little chat, but there are still one or two things we need to discuss."

Sam dropped his eyes, biting his lip. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"Is it usually okay for you or your brother to yell at me when I ask you to do something?"

"No, sir," said Sam, feeling sick at the prospect of getting a spanking and loathe to prolong the wait even with a few basic questions.

"Have I ever tolerated you swearing at me?"

"No, sir," he repeated dully.

"And is it acceptable for you to slam doors in this house?"

"No, sir," Sam sighed.

"In short, you've been pretty disrespectful. Intentionally disrespectful, in fact, since I know that you know better than to behave like a spoiled six-year-old. Now I understand that you were upset about moving to Louisiana. But that's no excuse for this sort of attitude and you know that as well as I do." John patted his leg. "Stand up, get those jeans down and come over here."

Sam fumbled with the button on his jeans semi-intentionally, suddenly less eager to get it over with. As he tugged them down to his knees and shuffled slowly across the room, his regrets for his behavior only grew. He stopped automatically at his father's leg, waiting for John to take his hand and pull him over his knee. As he stood there, his stomach churned and he could feel the tears pricking his eyes. _Dammit, not already,_ he thought, ashamed of himself. _You're such a crybaby, Sam._

Fortunately for Sam, the wait wasn't long. John pulled Sam neatly over his lap, positioning his bottom to provide a good target, and began swatting over his son's underwear. The spanking wasn't especially hard, but John didn’t do anything halfway, and Sam was yelping and squirming in no time.

"Ow! Dad, please, it hurts, you're hurting me! Ow, Dad, I'm sorry, really sorry, please stop," he begged, wriggling over John's lap to try to avoid the blows.

"Stay still, Sammy," John warned, not slowing down. "We're only getting started, so I'd save some of that energy."

At that, Sam's tears started dripping, hot and salty, running down the bridge of his nose and he whimpered. _I'm such a wimp,_ he thought, embarrassed at how quickly he started crying and carrying on when he was getting spanked. John's hand kept on falling, however, and soon he was preoccupied with other matters.

"Ouch, Dad…" he whined. "I'm really sorry…that hurts…ouch…owwww," he cried, giving in and sobbing, shuddering with each breath.

"Are you going to be disrespecting me any time soon, Sammy?" John asked, spanking Sam sharply at the base of his legs.

"Ouch! N-no, sir," Sam promised. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"I hope you are," John said firmly. "Are you going to be swearing at me in the future?"

"No, sir," Sam sobbed.

"And are you going to question my authority to run this family?"

"Noooo…" Sam said, unable to catch his breath for anything more than a howl as John finished the spanking with several swats to his thighs.

"I'm glad to hear that," said John. He brought his hand up and began rubbing Sam's shoulders, giving his son time to compose himself before sitting up. "Shhh, Sammy, it's over. It'll be okay. It’s all over now."

Sam sniffled and pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing as he tried to sit on his father's lap and scooting down so that his bottom was mostly on Dean's bed instead.

John pulled Sam into a tight hug and stroked his hair as Sam's head lay on his shoulder. "I love you, Sammy," he said. "You know that, right?"

Sam nodded against Dad's shoulder, eager for reassurance after the spanking. "Yes, sir," he said. "I love you too, Dad."

"I know you do, kid," John said, holding on to his youngest, still willing to share emotions with his father most of the time, still willing to show vulnerability and let John try to fix it. "Louisiana's going to be great for us, I promise."

Sam wasn't so sure, but he allowed himself to be soothed by his father's voice and the hand that had just painted his bottom, now squeezing his shoulders lovingly. "Couldn't be worse than Utah," he said with conviction, and his father chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

December 21, 1996

Sam sat on the front steps as Dean carried the last of the boxes to the U-Haul John had rented. He had managed to be civil to his family, for the most part, but he still couldn't understand why his father and brother were grinning and acting like nothing in the world was more exciting than driving across the country to start a new life over Christmas vacation.

Dean came over and sat on the stoop beside his brother. "So, looks like we're ready to go," he said helpfully. "You make sure you cleaned out the closet?"

"That's the third time you've asked that," Sam said morosely. "I put all the presents in the trunk, if that's what you're wondering."

"You know, this reminds me a lot of when we moved to Florida before Christmas," Dean said, barely holding back a grin. Sam groaned, but he knew Dean wouldn't stop until he'd had his laugh. "And Dad was loading all of our presents in the car, and you asked him `Can't Santa come to Florida too?'"

"Lots of kids believe in Santa Claus," Sam muttered.

"Not when they're ten years old," Dean chuckled, still pleased at his cute baby brother.

"You know Dad told you he'd beat your ass if you kept teasing me about it," Sam said, scowling. It wasn't half as funny as Dean thought, especially after the way he had teased him mercilessly well into March.

Dean shrugged. "That was three years ago. He'll get over it. Besides, I'm seventeen. I'm not a kid anymore."

"That wouldn't matter to Dad," Sam said darkly.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Dean said. `So let me off for the Christmas season." He kept quiet for almost a minute before he added "You've got to admit, it's pretty funny though."

"What's that?" John asked, emerging from the back of the U-Haul.

"Nothing," Sam and Dean said in unison. John raised his eyebrows but decided not to pursue it any further.

"Did you do a final check of the house?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Sam.

"Well, then, we might as well head out," John decided. "Sammy, you can either ride with me in the moving van or take the Impala with your brother."

Sam glanced over at the U-Haul, crammed with precariously packed boxes, and then at Dean, who gave him a grin that was anything but trustworthy and a thumbs-up. After careful consideration, he decided that a cross-country ride with Dean was statistically much less likely to end in physical pain for everyone concerned. "I'll go in the Impala," he said, getting to his feet.

"All right!" said Dean, jumping up and running to the car.

"Now, Dean, you take care of that car," John warned. "We'll get off at Exit 219A near Denver and stop for lunch at the first fast-food place on the right. If you need me for any reason, just put on your hazards and pull over."

"Yes, sir," said Dean, opening the door.

"And, son, I'm serious about being careful with the car," John said. "Is that clear?"

"C'mon, Dad, you know I'd never hurt the car," Dean said.

"All right," said John. "I'll see you boys in Denver." He strode over to the U-Haul and Sam reluctantly got into the Impala.

"Buckle up," said Dean. "It makes it harder for the aliens to suck you out of your car."

"You got that from a bumper sticker," Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. "It would have scared the shit out of you when you were eight," he said good-naturedly. "Besides, I get a lot of good lines from bumper stickers or movies."

"Movies?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Chicks dig those sappy lines," Dean explained. "Take Jenna Mulholland, for example. Last night when she—" he checked himself. "Never mind."

"I'm not eight, Dean," Sam said. "I know about that stuff."

Dean grinned at his little brother. "Sure you do, Sammy," he said soothingly. "But there are some things you just have to experience for yourself. Anyway, Jenna and I started dating after I told her `there's one thing I do know... and that is that I love you. In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you. Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names.'"

"You told a girl that she was selfish and shrewd and she went out with you?" Sam asked incredulously.

"It's from Gone with the Wind, genius. And it's better than the line where I tell the girl we both screw people for money."

"Wait a second…what?"

"That's from Pretty Woman, but there's a VERY selective audience for it."

"You've seen Pretty Woman?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "If you ever tell anyone I'll feed you to a werewolf… oh, wait. I wouldn't have to. They'd all know you're just making it up."

"So did you make it back by curfew or not last night?" Sam asked. He had fallen asleep before he could hear Dean come in.

Dean grimaced. "You know, I thought I was making pretty good time, given those…unhelpful restrictions and that fact that that was probably goodbye forever for me and Jenna," he said. "But you know Dad." He imitated John's voice. "`It's 2337. Now tell me, Dean, did you think 2300 hours meant 2345? Or did you just forget how to tell time?' But I smoothed it over okay, so that all worked out, I just have to keep a low profile for a while, if you know what I mean." He grinned again. "But it was worth every minute."

"I'm not gonna ask," said Sam.

Dean just grinned wider and turned up the music. A few seconds later, however, his face fell and he smacked his forehead. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "Dad lost us."

"Already? It's only been a couple of hours." Sam shook his head. "Dude, you drive like an old lady." A smirk appeared on his face. "But then again, you just haven't been your old self behind the wheel ever since you got that spanking last year for getting a speeding ticket."

Dean flushed bright red and gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles began to turn white. "If I wasn't driving I'd smack you into next week for bringing that up," he warned.

"Oh, come on, like you don't mention me getting my ass beat every chance you get," said Sam. "Guess you just can't take what you dish out."

"Jesus, Sammy, it's been like six months or something since I've made fun of you for getting…in trouble with Dad. And I've had even more opportunities than usual."

"It's Sam," Sam said firmly.

Dean shook his head. "If you're still acting like a six-year-old then Sammy it is," he said.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said. Suddenly a thought that had been in the back of his mind for some time struck him. "I'm not acting like a six-year-old. I'll drop it, okay? Forget I said anything."

"Okay," Dean agreed reluctantly. "But remember, Sam, I can take what I dish out. Just think about the Prank Wars."

Both brothers were silent for a moment, reliving one of the more hazardous periods of their lives, demon-hunting included. Then Sam took a breath and took a leap.

"Dean?" he asked. "As long as we're a little while behind Dad anyway, can you do me a favor?"

"Depends," Dean said cautiously. "What is it?"

"Can you go to a parking lot for just a few minutes and let me practice driving?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean laughed humorlessly. `You're joking, Sammy," he said. "It's more than my ass is worth to let you drive without a license…or to ever let you touch the Impala."

"Come on, Dean," Sam wheedled. "Dad would never have to know."

"No way," Dean said firmly. "Besides, it's only a hundred miles to Denver now… let's see if we can close some of this distance so Dad won't be as pissed at us."

Sam scowled and folded his arms. "Yes, sir, Private Winchester," he said sarcastically. "We wouldn't want Dad to be pissed at us, would we?"

Dean glared at his younger brother. "Well, excuse me for deciding not to risk both of us dying. And it's not just that, you driving could end up with a cop stopping us and getting us on the radar for illegal activities, or the Impala getting wrecked," he said angrily.

"Yeah, cause that's what's important to you," Sam shot back. "Not getting on the radar and not scratching the Impala, because that would upset Dad. And everything else can just go swallow cyanide so Dad won't be disappointed in you."

Dean tightened his lips and turned the volume up again, and the next hour was silent.

***

Dean glanced at the clock. It was just past noon, which meant that the Denver exit should be coming up. "Sammy?" he asked tentatively. "Next time you see a mile marker, can you tell me what it says?"

Sam was about to tell Dean to find his own damn mile marker when a better idea hit him. "Okay," he agreed. A moment later they passed a marker reading 225. "It's 225," he said. "And our exit is 219B, so it's coming up soon."

Dean looked confused. "I thought it was 219A," he said. "You sure it's B?"

Sam nodded convincingly. "Yeah, I'm sure, and I was listening, not spacing out and drooling at the thought of Jenna Mulholland in the back seat last night."

"Okay," said Dean. "You're probably right." A minute later they were on the exit ramp, then in Denver. "And the first restaurant on the right is…Arby's." He pulled into the parking lot. There was no sign of a moving van.

"Shit," said Dean. "All right, let's try 219A."

"Let's wait five minutes first," Sam said seriously. "You might have passed him when you were driving like a bat out of hell trying to catch up."

Dean considered this for a moment. "Okay," he said finally. "But if Dad doesn't show up by then every one of those five minutes is coming out of your ass, got it?"

"Fine, whatever," said Sam, a little apprehensive that Dean might make good on his threat.

Five minutes came and went. The clock ticked on…12:28…12:33…12:35.

"Dad doesn't run late," Dean said. "We were supposed to be here half an hour ago. It was the wrong exit."

"No shit, Sherlock," Sam said darkly.

Dean spun around to send his brother an angry glare. "You think this is funny?" he asked in his best John impression. "Because I'm not laughing. And I guarantee that when we find Dad he won't be laughing either. Now tell me the truth: did you tell me the wrong exit on purpose because you were pissed I wouldn't take you driving?"

Sam avoided Dean's eyes and shrugged.

"I cannot believe you did that, Sam!" Dean exploded, smacking the dashboard for emphasis. "After we get to the right place I'm going to kill you." He switched gears and sped out of the parking lot, trying to make up for lost time and figure out how to catch the interstate at the right place in a city as big as Denver. "Of course, that could be a pretty long time since it's lunch hour."

It was 1:18 before the Impala arrived at a Sonic, which was complete with a moving van and John, standing with his arms folded across his chest. He strode over to the Impala the minute Dean parked, opening the door and looking as though he wanted to grab and escort Dean out of the driver's seat as well. Dean quickly jumped out and faced his father before John could take matters into his own hands. Sam, on the other hand, fleetingly considered staying in the car, but slunk out when he realized that could be considered disobedience. He was careful to stay on his side of the car as the fireworks began.

"Where the hell have you been?" John shouted, barely restraining himself from smacking his son on the spot.

"Well, Sammy wanted to go to the circus—" Dean began, and John lost his temper. Before his son could react, he had grabbed Dean's upper arm, pinned him over the hood of the car and laid four hard swats across the seat of his jeans. Sam reconsidered getting out of the car.

"This is no joking matter, Dean," John said angrily. "Now you can start taking this seriously and showing me some respect or I can keep this up for as long as it takes. Can we try it again, without the smartass, or will that be necessary?"

"No, sir," Dean said quickly.

"Good." John released his arm and let him stand, at which point Dean seemed to find the grass highly intriguing.

"Now what time were you boys supposed to be here?" John asked.

"1200 hours, sir," Dean replied, still staring at the ground.

"And what time is it now?"

"It's 1320, sir," said Dean.

"So that's over an hour unaccounted for," John said.

"Yes, sir," Dean agreed in a low voice.

"Seems to me we've been having this discussion a little too often lately," John said conversationally. `Last night I didn't take it too seriously. You're seventeen, out with your girlfriend on a Friday night. But it appears that I'm spending more time than I'd like just waiting for you to take your sweet time getting places. And personally, I can think of better ways to spend my weekends."

"Yes, sir," Dean said again.

"So where have you been for the last hour, son?" asked John.

"I thought the exit was 219B, not 219A," Dean said. "So I waited for you at the wrong place for a few minutes. Then I realized I'd made a mistake and we got here as fast as we could in the traffic."

John nodded. "And Sammy," he began, locking his eyes on his younger son from across the car, "didn't you tell your brother he was taking the wrong exit?"

"No, sir," said Sam, aware that Dean had probably just spared him from one hell of a spanking with a ten-hour drive to go. "I thought it was Exit 219B too. Maybe you could have accidentally told us the wrong exit?"

John's scowl deepened. "I suppose that's possible," he said. "But if you'd kept up, Dean, that wouldn't have been a problem. If you're following someone, you stick to them like a leech. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Dean, hoping that this signified the end of the conversation.

"Good." John's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I'm going to ignore this for the time being, but I expect you to be right behind me when I get to the hotel in Oklahoma City, or we'll have a problem on our hands. Now I expect you boys are hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," his sons chorused loudly.

"Me too," he said. "Let's get some lunch and head on the road. It'll probably take us till midnight with this delay."

As they got back in the car, Sam turned to his brother. "Thanks for not telling Dad it was my fault," he said awkwardly.

Dean brushed it off. "Hell, I would have felt stupid saying `I listened to Sam' when we all know how screwed your sense of direction is. Besides, I was kind of being a hardass. I don't really blame you."

***

December 22, 1996

"Six months from now we'll be spending some time in Iberville Parish," John said, sitting in his new living room with his boys. "Now, New Orleans is about an hour south of Harrison, and by all accounts it's one of the most haunted cities in America, so we may be spending a lot of time there."

Dean sent Sam a meaningful look.

"Dean!" John barked.

"Yes, sir?" said Dean, wiping the grin from his face.

"Tell me what's so important about June 23rd."

Dean looked temporarily nonplussed, then took a guess. "Feast of St. John?" he asked.

John nodded. "That's good, Dean. Sammy! What happens every year on the Feast of St. John?"

Sam didn't know, and he had a feeling Dean didn't either, but he just shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

John looked as though he'd expected that. "It's the Werewolves Ball," he said. "Dean, tell your brother about the loups-garou."

"They're a Cajun type of werewolf, right?" Dean asked. "Like a lot of conscious spirits they can be distracted by ordinary things, like counting holes in a colander. And they're repelled by frogs. Silver bullets work on them, like any shape-shifter. And they burn if you sprinkle them with salt."

John nodded proudly. "Good job, son. But you forgot the most important part."

"What's that?" Dean asked. He'd been sure he'd covered everything.

"They burn because they're people inside wolf skins," said John. "These loups-garou aren't ordinary werewolves. Transformation is a choice. They keep a wolfskin, put it on at night with a salve they make and then they go hunting. It's the skin that burns, and they have to get out of it if they want to survive."

Dean looked like John was wasting his time. "Why's that important?"

"It means they're evil," John said. "More evil than your average shape-shifter or creature. They're humans who are twisted enough to want to drink the blood of their neighbors and destroy their towns. You've got to understand what goes on in their minds, or you're never going to be able to fight them."

Dean remained unconvinced. "If I shoot the sucker it dies; that's good enough for me," he muttered.

"Well, it's not good enough for me," John said. "So after you get back from buying groceries, you can read Singer's _Guide to the Garewul_ and write me a report on the personality differences between loups-garou and other werewolves." He tossed Dean the keys to the Impala. "There's only one grocery store in Harrison, and it's just two miles down the road. I'll expect you to be back by 2100 hours."

"Can I go too?" Sam asked eagerly, afraid that waiting around would just inspire his father to assign him reading on Louisiana lore as well.

John shrugged. "If your brother doesn't mind."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy can come too. He can carry the bags for me."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Sam said.

"Not joking," Dean called, already walking to the garage.

When they reached Greg's Groceries, Sam turned to Dean, a gleam in his eye. "There's nobody here. The parking lot is completely empty. So why don't you let me practice driving?"

Dean looked at the clock. "It's 8:28," he said. "If you can get all the groceries for the week in twenty minutes, we'll practice driving."

"Yes!" Sam yelled, punching the air. "Thank you so much, Dean!"

"Hurry," Dean said. "You've got 19 minutes and if it's 8:49 when you get back you can kiss the opportunity goodbye."

He leaned back, confident that Sam would never make it. Groceries for three in about fifteen minutes? Impossible. So when Sam came back at 8:44, grinning and pushing a cart full of bags, Dean rubbed his eyes.

"Now you have to teach me how to drive!" Sam gloated. "You wouldn't believe how small the place is. I found everything I needed in no time."

"Dad never finds out," Dean warned.

"Okay," said Sam. "Fine by me."

"I am so going to regret doing this," Dean groaned as he got out of the car.

"Come on, what's the worst that could happen?" Sam asked.

Dean actually turned pale and shut his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm praying and asking God to have mercy on my ass," Dean responded. "Okay. Now, you always brake before you switch gears…"

He gave Sam a few more basic instructions, culminating in "and if you go any faster than ten miles an hour I swear to God I won't have to tell Dad, I'll just punch you into next week and you can explain it to him then."

"Calm down," Sam advised. "You'll raise your blood pressure, Grandma."

"Just go already so we can get the hell out of here," Dean said, clenching his teeth. Sam eased the car into reverse, then drive.

"Stop! Stop! The white line means you stop!" Dean shouted, causing Sam to slam on the brakes and almost crack his head open on the dashboard in the process.

"Jesus, Dean, don't scare me like that," he gasped. "There's no one around. It's not a big deal."

"It's a big deal if you learn wrong and start driving and kill some little old lady getting her groceries cause you didn't stop at the white line," Dean said.

"The only little old lady around here is you," Sam said. He was about to start driving again when a police car pulled up beside them.

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean swore. "Put it in park and let me do the talking."

The officer tapped on the window. "Roll down the window, idiot!"  
Dean hissed.

Sam complied, his hands shaking. `Shit' did not even begin to cover it.

"Son, do you have a license for driving this car?" the officer asked.

"He's just learning," Dean said. "My little brother. We're new in town."

"I can tell that," the officer said. "Small town, Harrison. One of the smallest in St. Luke Parish, in fact. 1843 people, and I know most of them. Does your brother have a license to drive?"

"No," Dean said, "not exactly, but, we're new to Louisiana, see, and we were going to get him—"

The officer cut him off. "Is your brother old enough to get a license?"

"No, sir," Dean said. "But—"

"And unless you're 21, you're not qualified to teach him to drive," the officer continued. "So it looks to me like you've got yourselves a situation here."

"Yes, sir," said Dean. This was not going the way he'd expected. He reached down to get his wallet, but the officer's voice stopped him.

"Don't even think about offering me money, son," he said.

Dean shook his head. "No, sir, I just wanted to show you that I have a license—"

"Won't help you any," the policeman said. "Now, I'm going to escort you boys home and speak to your parents about this. Where do you live?"

Dean looked as though he was trying to find any other possible solution to the problem and Sam decided it was better to cooperate with the man. "We live at 110 Morgan Avenue," he said. "Just a couple of miles down the road. With our dad, his name's John Winchester."

The officer nodded. "Where Ms. Murphy and her kids used to live," he said. "I know it. Glad they finally found someone to take that lease. Now, I want you to switch seats with your brother, young man, and I'll follow you boys there. Any funny business and you can both spend a couple of hours at the jail, understood?"

Sam and Dean nodded glumly and switched places.

"We are so screwed," Sam said, watching the policeman get into his car.

Dean glared. "Just shut your mouth, Sammy, because this is all your fault." He looked at the clock again. "Shit, we're going to be late," he said. "We're going to come home ten minutes late with a police escort who's going to stick his nose into our business and probably start keeping an eye on us because he knows everyone in town." He started driving. "Do you think we stand a chance of outrunning him and making it to Mexico so Dad can't find us?"

Sam knew that underneath Dean's joking he was as scared as his younger brother. "We're kind of low on gas," he pointed out cautiously.

"You're right," Dean sighed. "Dammit, dammit, dammit to hell."

Sam squirmed. This wasn't going to be pretty no matter what. He just hoped Dean could forgive him for whatever John would do.

When they got to the house, Dean parked the Impala carefully and went to the front door rather than the garage entrance. "I figure Dad would rather have the policeman see the books than the weapons," he explained to Sam. "Assuming he wants to come in."

The policeman came up beside them as Sam reached out slowly to ring the doorbell. John answered almost as soon as it chimed, his face taking on a look of horror that he quickly turned into polite interest when he saw who was on his front steps.

"Good evening, Officer," he said. "Is there a problem?"

"Good evening, Mr. Winchester," said the policeman. "I'm Detective Meredith, and we've had a problem with your boys. Seems some illegal driving was going on."

"Dean? Samuel? Would you like to explain what Detective Meredith is talking about?" John asked in a voice that showed his annoyance all too clearly.

"I was letting Sam practice driving in the parking lot at the grocery store," Dean said. "I'm sorry."

John nodded. "I believe you're sorry now," he said ominously, "although that might be a sight sorrier later." He turned to Detective Meredith. "Is there anything I need to do?"

The officer shook his head. "Not at all. I just wanted to let you know what your sons were up to. We do things differently in Harrison, you know. All kind of keep an eye on each other, know what's going on. Of course, if I find them doing anything like that again there will be consequences with the law, but since you're new here I thought I'd cut them a little slack. Not what you're used to, probably."

John nodded slowly. "Thank you very much, Detective Meredith. I certainly appreciate your help. I'm sorry we had to meet this way."

The officer nodded. "I'm sure it'll all work out just fine," he said. "Harrison's a nice place. I'll run into you soon under better circumstances, I'm sure."

As he turned to go, he winked at John. "Now don't you hit those boys too hard," he said with good humor.

John gave him a strained smile that melted into a dark scowl as he turned to face his sons. "Get inside now," he ordered, and they were quick to obey.

Sam and Dean seated themselves on the faded couch in the living room while John paced between the rows of boxes. After what seemed like an eternity, he sat down on a box labeled "Exorcisms, Holy Water, Crosses" and stared his oldest son in the eyes.

"Dean, tell me exactly what happened."

Dean dropped his eyes. "Sam asked me if he could practice driving and I told him okay, if he finished getting groceries in twenty minutes. I didn't actually think he'd do it, but he did and then I felt like I couldn't go back on my word, so I let him try. And then the policeman saw us and I guess he thought something looked funny because he stopped us and asked if Sam was old enough to drive. And then…well, he took us home."

"Is that right, Sammy?" John asked, his eyes now boring into Sam's.

"Well, yes, sir, but it was really my fault," Sam said anxiously. "I was really—"

"It doesn't matter," John said sternly. "What happened was that I trusted your brother with the car, with not calling attention to us, with your life. And he gets brought home ten minutes after I asked him to be here by the police, for allowing you to drive without a license. Which is illegal." He shifted his gaze back to Dean. "Did I leave anything out?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm also not old enough to teach anyone how to drive," he said nonchalantly. "Oh, and Sammy almost didn't stop at a white line."

"Sammy almost didn't stop at a white line?" John repeated.

"That's right," said Dean, as though he didn't really care.

"Dean, how much are you looking forward to getting spanked?" John asked. "Because I'm about to add an extra five minutes for your smartass remarks."

"Oh, come on, I thought that remark should have gotten me at least an extra ten minutes," said Dean before he could stop himself. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd said. "Shit, Dad, I didn't mean—"

"All right, son, if that's the way you want it, you can have the five extra minutes for being such a smartass and if you want to swear any more we can add another ten minutes for that too," John threatened. "Unless you wanted that extra ten to begin with? Because your remark was just that sarcastic?"

"No, sir," Dean said quickly. Sam noticed that his brother looked sick again.

"Good. I don't really think my hand would be up for it," John said. "Now, Dean, if you want to go put the groceries up in the kitchen I'll get Sammy's spanking out of the way first, since it's going to be so much shorter." He paused. "You did get groceries, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said, jumping to his feet. As he walked past the bows to the garage, he could hear his father's voice continuing to address Sammy.

"What in God's name possessed you to do something as stupid as asking Dean to let you drive?" John asked.

"I just wanted to learn," Sam mumbled. "I thought it would be fun."

"Really? Do you think the spanking you’re about to get is going to be fun for either one of us?" John asked.

"No, sir."

“Was it a good idea to do something illegal behind my back?"

"No, sir."

“Are you going to be pulling a stunt like this anytime soon?"

"No, sir."

"All right. That should just about cover it." John patted his knee. "Come on over, Sammy. Over my knee." Sam's heart leaped as he stood up and walked over and John didn't say anything. "And get those jeans down."

Crushed, Sam unzipped his jeans with trembling fingers and lay down awkwardly over his father's lap. He hated this position more than anything, draped over his daddy’s knee with his rear end stuck in the air like he was a naughty child. He didn’t have much time to dwell on this thought, however. As soon as John had him positioned correctly, he raised his hand high and brought it down with a firm crack right in the middle of Sam’s upturned behind.

"Now, Sam, I want you to tell me everything that you did wrong tonight," John said, slapping his son's bottom through his underwear.

"Ummm…I asked Dean to let me drive," Sam said, sniffling. "And…I knew it was illegal and you wouldn't want me to…and I wasn't going to tell you about it…." tears started streaming down his face as the spanks continued.

"That's right," John said. "Why was that such a bad idea, Sammy?"

Sam's mind flashed back to Dean's repeated arguments against driving practice. "It's illegal and could call attention to us…ouch! And it's d-dangerous because I c-can't drive…and I c-could hurt something or the car or somebody…." He cried out as John's hand landed three hard smacks in the exact same place. "Ouch! Please, Dad, please, I'm s-sorry…you're hurting me…" he sobbed. He didn't care that Dean could hear everything, didn't care that he was breaking down and crying like a kid.

"I'm hurting you?" John asked. "Well, Sammy, I'm sorry, but you hurt me when you put your life in danger like that. And personally I'd much rather see you have trouble sitting down because you got a spanking than see you have trouble breathing because you got a punctured lung." He punctuated this statement with a series of swats to Sam's thighs before moving back to his son's bottom. Sam, trying hard not to kick or move a hand back to protect himself, gave in to the long, shuddering sobs that wracked his body as John continued to spank.

"And I have to say, if this is the only way to keep you from disobeying me, getting in trouble with the law, not telling me the truth and putting your life in danger, I'll spank you every night before bed as a reminder," John said sternly, knowing that it was an empty threat but trusting that Sam would take it to heart. He concluded the spanking with half a dozen more swats, then rubbed his burning hand across Sam's shoulders.

"Shh, Sammy," he soothed. "It's okay. I'm done."

In the kitchen Dean was making as loud a clatter as he could, noisily putting everything away separately to drown out the sounds of his brother's tears.

Sam got his crying under control, shaking with the repressed sobs, and sat up gingerly on John's lap. Tears poured out of his eyes as he felt the effects of the spanking.

"I'm s-sorry," he cried, burying his face in John's shoulder. "I'm really sorry. I…I just wasn't thinking…."

"It's all right, Sammy," John reassured him. "It's okay. I love you. Everything's gonna be all right." He stroked Sam's hair. "You need another haircut," he observed.

"I just got one last week," Sam sniffled. "Besides, I l-like it longer." Another tear soaked into John's shirt.

"Okay, okay, we'll let it go for now," John said. He continued stroking his son's hair until Sam started to squirm slightly.

"All right, you send your brother in here now," John said. Sam got up reluctantly, grimacing as he pulled up his jeans.

"Dad, it really was more my fault than Dean's," Sam said shakily, but John shook his head.

"Your brother has one hell of a spanking coming, Sammy," he said firmly. "He's been testing the limits too long for me to let this slide. In fact, you might actually want to go take a walk around the neighborhood for half an hour or so while we talk."

In the kitchen, Dean dropped a plate he was unpacking and it shattered. "God _damn_ it!" he swore loudly.

"I'll clean it up later," John called to his older son. "Right now I want you in the living room, Dean."

Sam was out the front door in the blink of an eye, but Dean took a moment longer to make it to his father.

"Sit down," John said, pointing at the couch. Dean sat and immediately began picking at a loose thread. "Now look me in the face," said John.

Dean looked into his father's eyes, and John saw the emotion shining through: fear, regret, shame. "Tell me what you did wrong, Dean."

Dean took a minute to respond, and when he did it was in a husky voice, as though he was trying to keep from crying. "I let Sammy drive the Impala," he said. "Which was a really stupid thing to do. And I wasn't back when you told me to be. And then I had to mouth off to you."

John nodded. "Hadn't I told you that if you broke curfew again you'd be getting punished?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Dean.

"And I know you know better than to give your brother driving lessons," John continued. Dean nodded tightly. "And as for your mouth…well, we'll be getting to that later." He patted his leg. "Come on over, Dean. And take your jeans off."

Dean walked slowly over to John's side, but once his jeans were around his knees he was lying down over his father's lap in a heartbeat. John allowed himself to smile faintly, knowing that Dean couldn't see him. But he was brought quickly back to the matter at hand.

He started swatting Dean mildly, building up a kind of slow rhythm he knew would start to burn before too long. It was easier on his hand, and it also left room for the spanking to get worse. Unlike his brother, Dean took it stoically, not uttering a syllable.

"Now, being late for curfew every once in a while is understandable," John lectured as he swatted. This was a longer, more complex list of offenses than Sam's and he wanted to make sure Dean knew exactly why he was receiving every spank he got. "But this is the third time in three days that you've been late for something, and that looks a little careless. In fact, it looks like you don't actually think it matters whether you keep me waiting, whether you worry me to death, whether there's anyone involved but you. And I can't tolerate that." He continued swatting in a pattern, noting that Dean's breathing was a little more deliberate. "Which brings me to my next point. You were late coming home Friday night—the night before we moved—because you were out with your girlfriend. You were late to our lunch stop yesterday because you took the wrong exit. But tonight you were late because you were allowing your thirteen-year-old brother to drive my car, without a license, without any sort of experience. And that's something that I really can't tolerate."

Dean stiffened as John brought his hand down harder. Now that they had moved on to the heart of the spanking, John started hitting Dean with a fair amount of force, feeling the sting in his hand and the warmth in his son's bottom.

"I think you know what a stupid idea that was," he continued. "You know you and your brother could have been killed. So could anyone unfortunate enough to be around you. Life and death aren't something to take lightly. I thought you knew that. And the fact that you wouldn't have told me about it if a policeman hadn’t stopped you is also unacceptable. It takes away any trust I might have had in you, Dean." Dean let out a small grunt as John increased the intensity of the spanking once more. "As it is, we're going to have to be more careful than we expected, since you boys got yourselves in trouble with the law on our first night in Harrison. You just think about that while I concentrate on your spanking."

John spanked hard, feeling his son try his best to hold back the tears. "Sammy could have died tonight, Dean," he said deliberately, "and you would have had to live with that."

The tears started coursing down Dean's cheeks then, and he sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry, Dad," he cried. "I know I messed up really bad. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Dean," John said, easing up on the strength of the spanks. "Nobody got hurt. It turned out okay. But it could have gone differently, and I want you to remember that before you put yourself in that position again."

Dean nodded, crying, and John felt guilty. He knew that Dean would die before he would intentionally put Sammy in danger. He also knew that Dean would be haunted by the idea that he would be to blame if anything had happened.

He stopped spanking abruptly. "I ought to go on for another five minutes for you being such a smartass," he said fiercely. "I'm not going to, but this should remind you to keep that mouth in check.” With that, John landed five scalding spanks apiece to each of Dean’s thighs, causing the boy to cry out in pain. “All right, we’re finished here. Get up, Dean." Dean crawled to his feet, his face nearly as red as his rear end from tears and embarrassment. He avoided John’s gaze, ashamed of himself, but John pulled his son into a tight hug before Dean could resist.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized. "I should never have said that about your brother. Nothing happened to him. It's okay."

Dean cried, hugging John back, much to his father's surprise. "No, Dad, you're right," he said brokenly. "Sammy could have been killed and it would have been my fault. I'm going to have to live with that anyway."

"It would not have been your fault," John said firmly, gripping Dean even tighter. "It was a stupid decision, but it's just as much your brother's fault. And you're both fine, we're all okay. Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen." He took Dean by the shoulders, pulled him away and looked into his eyes. "You take such good care of your brother, Dean. You always have. I know you would never put him in any sort of danger. I am so, so proud of you."

Dean nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I won't ever let anything happen to Sammy, I promise," he said. "And I'm not going to do anything that stupid ever again."

John nodded. "I trust you," he said. He pulled Dean into one last, brief hug. "Now if you want to get started on that loups-garou report…." He gestured to the desk, complete with a hard wooden chair. Dean paled.

"I can read it in bed, I promise," he said quickly. "I'll write it in bed too, really."

John smiled. "I ought to make you sit at the desk," he said mildly. "Go on, I put your bed in the first room on the right. You and Sammy share the small bathroom."

"Thanks, Dad," said Dean. He stepped away, pulling his jeans up and wincing slightly.

"You know I love you?" John asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But you better not tell me that in public, especially if we're gonna be here for as long as you said." He offered his dad a small grin, picked up the Singer guide and went to his bedroom.

Sam came in about ten minutes later and was surprised when John gave him another hug. "I love you, Sammy," he said. "You're a good kid."

"Thanks, Dad," Sam said. "I love you, too. Is Dean…"

"Probably asleep," said John. "He's pretty worn out. You should probably get to bed too."

"Yes, sir," Sam said automatically. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sammy." John watched his younger son go into his bedroom, then quietly opened Dean's door. He had fallen asleep with the light on and the _Guide to the Garewul_ across his chest. John removed the book and kissed Dean's forehead, turned out the light and hoped that Louisiana got better soon.


	3. Chapter 3

December 23, 1996  
"If one more busybody who's decided to be the Harrison Welcome Wagon comes in here, I'm going to streak and start chanting exorcisms," Dean scowled bitterly. He made his way across the living room to stand by a stack of boxes near the desk. "How many people are there in this town anyway? Two thousand?"

"1843, according to the 1990 census," Sam said, not looking up from his volume of Southern Folklore. "And only four have stopped by to introduce themselves."

"And that one MacLean lady," Dean continued. "With her kid. He was a little shit, asking all those questions about the gun."

Sam put down his book and sighed loudly. "Her name was MacElroy, and it was your own goddamn fault for having the thing out. You’re just lucky they bought your bullshit story. And in case you didn't notice, I'm trying to do some research here."

Dean shrugged irritably. "Fine. I'll just stop trying to relieve my incredible boredom since my little brother won't even pretend to talk to me."

"You could be doing that report for Dad," Sam pointed out. "He's going to be pretty pissed if he comes home and you still haven't started it."

Dean nodded acknowledgment that his brother had a point but stuck to his guns nonetheless. "Yeah, but you're using the desk," he said. "Although I'm not quite sure how you're sitting down right now."

Sam rolled his eyes, aware that Dean was trying to get a rise out of him. "Stop being such a drama queen, it didn't hurt that much," he said. "Unless you're too much of a chick to  
take a little spanking."

That pushed Dean over the edge and he smacked Sam immediately to preserve his dignity. "Yeah, well, Dad hit me harder than he hit you," he said. "And besides, I'm not used to it because, unlike you, I can keep my ass out of the line of fire for more than two weeks at a time."

"Really?" asked Sam, standing up so fast he knocked the chair down. He was almost a foot shorter than his brother was but it seemed unimportant as he thought about how much he'd like to collar Dean. "Because it looks like you're having a hard time staying out of trouble for two days at a time. Let's see, yesterday you got turned over Daddy's knee for a spanking, the day before yesterday he started spanking you at Sonic-"

Dean flushed red with embarrassment but lost no time in pinning Sam to the floor. "In case you forgot, Sammy, that was your fault both times," he said calmly. "I guess I just need to remember to act like an adult, not like some little thirteen-year-old kid."

Sam was so angry that tears sprang to his eyes, which only made him angrier. He tried to take a swing at Dean, but his brother caught his fist in midair and laughed. "Pathetic," he said. "Don't bother trying, Sammy, because there's no way a little kid like you could hurt me."

Sam pulled up his knees quickly, knocking Dean off balance, and almost struggled to his feet before Dean picked himself up and re-pinned Sam. "Not bad, shorty," Dean said, mildly impressed. "Practice and maybe someday you could come close to competing with me."

"You wait until I've had my growth spurt," Sam hissed, trying to keep angry tears from falling, but Dean just grinned.

"Think you can top 6'1", Sammy?" he asked. "Because if you don't, I'll kick your ass every time. If you do, I'll still kick your ass every time because I'm a better fighter, and you'll be freakishly tall so none of the chicks will want you." He paused. “Some of the dudes might. The ones who like to pretend to be chicks but are too tall." It looked like Dean was going to continue in this vein for some time, but just then the front doorbell rang again.

"Shit," said Dean, rolling off his brother and jumping to his feet. "If that's another Mrs. Buttinsky I'm going to streak. I'm not even kidding," he said, his hands straying near the bottom of his shirt.

Sam looked out the peephole, standing on his tiptoes. "It's Dad," he announced, and Dean looked suddenly panicked.

"He said he'd be back at two. It's not even one!"

"Set your watch for central time, genius," Sam said with a smirk as Dean grabbed the _Guide to the Garewul_ and dived onto the couch. He opened the book to a third of the way through and acted as though he'd been reading all along.

Sam sighed and opened the door for John.

"Forgot my key," John explained, sitting down beside his eldest son.

"And since when has that stopped you?" Dean asked, putting his book aside.

John shook his head irritably. "We've been over this, Dean," he said. "Harrison is a small place and we're not going to do anything out of the ordinary."

"Except constantly visit your brother in Shreveport," Dean said. "I know, I know."

"Then start acting like it," John said. "How's your reading coming, boys?"

Sam was tempted to tell his father that he'd tried to read and Dean hadn't let him. Before he decided whether it would be worth it, Dean answered, and Sam sat back to watch his brother dig his own grave.

"These werewolves really are interesting," Dean said quickly. "The fact that they're really humans who consciously choose to turn into monsters-well, it makes them more dangerous, and unpredictable. Humans are a lot harder to anticipate than most ghosts and demons."

John nodded. "You're right. That's what makes loups-garou so much trickier than most werewolves. But what can you tell me about the other types?"

Dean frowned and Sam grinned as he watched his big brother fishing for an answer. "Well, traditional werewolves don't choose to transform," he began. "They get bitten by a werewolf and then the full moon turns them-"

"Bullshit," said John. "You could have told me that after watching some bad horror movie. Now tell me the truth, Dean. Did you actually read any of that?"

"No, sir," said Dean.

"And you thought I wouldn't realize you were pulling things out of your ass? You can't lie to me, Dean. I taught you everything you know about lying."

"Addams Family Values," muttered Sam, just loud enough for John to hear.

"Do you have something to say to me, Sammy?" he asked, and no one missed the mild threat in his voice. "Or did you waste the morning like your brother?"

"No, sir," said Sam in a tone that was probably pushing his luck. "I was reading, only Dean wouldn't leave me alone."

John turned his gaze back on Dean, who shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't keep my hands off him. He's such a tease, wearing something like that when he knows it drives me wild."

John choked back a laugh, trying to maintain his stern parental demeanor. "You know that smartass is going to get you into trouble, Dean."

"Yeah, but it's fun until then," said Dean, flashing his father a quick smile.

John sighed. "Dean, until you've finished that report you're staying in your room," he said. "And no, it's not open for discussion," he added sharply, cutting off Dean's protests. "If you'd made some different decisions it could have been done a while ago. Now go.” Dean left with an injured expression and John patted the sofa where he had been sitting. “Come here, Sammy.”

Sam reluctantly moved to sit beside his father.

“I wanted to talk to you some more about Harrison,” John said. “You know it’s a pretty big change for us.”

“Tiny town, Andy Griffith for a cop, acting like a normal family, having a teacher who actually learns my name…I don’t get it. What’s the change?” Sam asked snarkily.

“I’d watch that attitude,” John said firmly. "You're a smart kid. I'm sure you've noticed that it usually just gets your brother in further trouble."

"Yes, sir," Sam said dully. _Except Dean's almost never in trouble, and you think it's funny when he mouths off._

"Now, this is a friendly place," John continued. "We'll probably have neighbors dropping in wanting to meet us-"

"Too late," said Sam. "Four of them already did."

John paused. "Really," he said. "Well...then you already know what to expect. Now, I suppose you're aware that tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

"Yeah," Sam said suspiciously.

"We're going to Mass," his father announced.

"We're not Catholic," Sam pointed out.

John shrugged. "Jim helped me come up with some certificates for transferring parishes. Pretty damn good, if I say so myself.”

"Jesus," said Sam. "That may be a new all-time low. Forging religion."

"It's a very Catholic town," John said. "We're fitting in, son. That means going to church."

"Mass," Sam corrected. "Since it's outside of New Orleans, it's pretty much all Catholic, right?"

"That's right," said John.

"So we could be looking for some voodoo going on?" Sam asked hopefully.

John shook his head. "Not in Harrison, Sammy. This town is completely clean. And remember, there are different rules here. You keep hunting strictly inside the house. Nothing at school, church, even the library. If we need to do research, we'll go visit Uncle Caleb in Shreveport. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Sam. "I'm not stupid. But what if there is a case in Harrison?”

“I’ll tell you what I told your brother,” said John. “There’s nothing in Harrison. And if something comes, you leave it to me to work out a plan to kill it without anyone catching on. Okay by you?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Good," said John. "And you'll both have to look decent for Mass tomorrow night."

"It'll kill Dean," Sam said bluntly.

"Not if I kill his smart ass first," John said, sending a speculative look towards his eldest son's room. "Now, Sammy, tell me the truth. Were you two fighting when I came home?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said reluctantly.

“Why?”

“He just pinned me," Sam replied.

"I get the feeling there's more to the story than that," John said. "Sammy-"

He was interrupted by the doorbell. He sent Sam a look that clearly told him to stay where he was, then opened the door, standing in the doorway.

"Why, you must be John Winchester!" the woman chirped. "I was by earlier and spoke with your boys. They told me you were out. I brought a pie for y'all."

Sam winced, recognizing the perky Southern accent. Of all the morning's visitors, it had to be this one. Murphy’s Law seemed to be the rule by which the Winchester lived, and this visitor was no exception. Of course he’d known it would happen sooner or later…

"I'm Linda MacElroy," she said. "I live at 106 Morgan, just two doors down."

"Won't you come in?" John asked politely, stepping aside.

"Why, thanks so much," she said. "Now, where should I put this...?"

"Sammy can take that to the kitchen," John said. "Won't you sit down?"

"Well, I certainly will, thanks," she said, taking a seat. "How nice to see you again, Sam. Where's your brother?"

"He's in his room," John said. "He's writing an essay for me about the dangers of driving without a license."

Sam took the opportunity to excuse himself and take the tinfoil container to the kitchen, but he could still hear everything going on in the living room.

"Oh my!" Linda MacElroy was saying in shocked tones. "Yes, I remember last summer when my Robbie was trying to learn to drive, and he decided to practice without me or his father around. He crashed the car and it's just a miracle he wasn't hurt. Of course Rob tanned his hide for him and it was some time before he got behind the wheel again, I can assure you."

John laughed and Sam was amazed at how easily his father could pretend to be just another good ole boy. "Dean was trying to teach his brother to drive," he said. "Fortunately Officer Meredith caught sight of them before anything that unfortunate happened. And I think I took care of their desire to tempt fate, at least for now. When they start sitting down comfortably again, I’m sure they'll find some other way to get into trouble."

Linda MacElroy laughed shrilly. "Oh, well, boys will be boys," she said, as though it was clever and original.

"They certainly will," John agreed. "Now how old is your son?"

"Robbie's almost sixteen, so he's just right in between your boys," she said. "And I have twins who are just Sam's age, Jimmy and Cherry. Her name's Cheryl but everyone calls her Cherry. Isn't that cute?"

"It certainly is," John agreed. "Sammy, what's taking you so long? Come out here and say hello to Mrs. MacElroy."

"Oh, you can call me Linda," she insisted as Sam slowly returned to the living room. "Now, I'm sorry, John, but what exactly do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic," he said. "Took a job with Johnny's Auto Repair, in fact."

"Really?" she said. "Now ain't that something! Johnny's married to my sister Carolyn. And he's just such a wonderful man."

"Absolutely."

"But I reckon you didn't move all the way down here just to take a job with Johnny Murphy," she continued. "Where are y'all from again? Utah?"

"That's right," John said. "My brother Caleb lives in Shreveport, though, and this was a way to be closer to him after his wife passed. You know family's so important. But I didn't want to live with my boys in a big city like Shreveport. Harrison's small and friendly, and we like that." He reached over and ruffled Sam's hair. Sam tried to smile, but knew he ended up looking more bewildered than anything.

"Oh, of course," she said, completely ignoring Sam. "You know, I think you would have gotten along so well with my husband, John. You seem to care about so many of the things he did."

"Has he..."

"He had a heart attack last May," she said, nodding calmly. "And he was only thirty-nine. One of those dreadful things where you just have to hope God has a plan for him."

"We can't always know what the Lord has in mind when a tragedy like that occurs," John said gravely. An awkward silence ensued.

"Well, I really can't stay any longer," Linda said brightly, getting up. "I just wanted to drop off that pie. Tell Dean I'm sorry I missed him, and Robbie would love to go hunting with y'all sometime soon." She smiled sweetly, apparently unaware that John’s face had momentarily given away his panic.

"I’m sorry, hunting?" John asked, and Sam's heart sank. So close, so close...

"Dean told us all about your hunting trips," she said, smiling. "Rob used to take the boys hunting too, and Lord knows they've missed it. Of course my family never hunted, and I've always felt a little sorry for the poor animals. I certainly learned to enjoy them though! Will we be seeing y'all at Mass tomorrow evening?"

"Of course," John said. "I look forward to it." He stood up to show her to the door.

"Bye now! Y'all take care!" she said, and she was gone.

Before the door had even closed John had grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him to a standing position. "Start talking now," he ordered in a deadly voice.

Sam swallowed and opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was conscious of a sudden need to run to the bathroom.

"What the hell was she talking about, Samuel?" John yelled, delivering a few smacks to the seat of his pants.

Sam burst into tears. "It wasn't my fault! Dean answered the door when he was in the middle of cleaning a gun and she just came in and he had to make up some sort of excuse!"

"He answered the door with the guns out," repeated John, looking absolutely furious. "The hell was he thinking..." he released his youngest son. "Stay there and don't move," he said, as Sam collapsed into the chair once again.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, sniffling. His father stormed off and entered Dean's room without knocking, slamming the door behind him. Even through his tears, Sam could hear everything going on in his brother’s bedroom.

“Dean Winchester, what the hell is this about a gun?” John shouted.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry,” Dean said quickly, and Sam could hear the emotion in his voice.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” their father ordered.

“I was unpacking some stuff to put in my lockbox and the doorbell rang. It was the first time so I didn’t know she’d be all friendly, I thought it was like a delivery of some weapons or books we left with Jim or something. So I just put it down on the sofa in the middle of cleaning it and answered the door. And she was in the house before I could even invite her, with that kid, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just went along with whatever they were saying about hunting….” Dean’s voice trailed, off, breaking towards the end.

“What’s the one most important rule I have ever given you, Dean?”

Dean’s response was mumbled and Sam couldn’t make it out.

“I didn’t hear that,” John said sharply.

“Not to let anyone find out who we are, unless we have to tell them to save their lives, sir,” said Dean, and Sam knew that tears were running down his cheeks and he was trying not to sob out loud.

“You just made the most stupid, amateur mistake I have ever seen you make,” John thundered angrily. “You were enormously careless, you put our entire future here in jeopardy and you thought you could hide it from me.”

“No, sir, I was going to tell you…” Dean protested thickly.

“Save it, Dean. You should have told me the minute I walked in the door and you know it. In fact, I don’t believe we have anything more to discuss. Take down those jeans and bend over the bed. Now, Dean!”

And Sam, horrified, heard the unmistakable sounds of John’s belt smacking his firstborn, and Dean’s occasional cries. He put his fingers in his ears and sobbed, but he still couldn’t drown out the drama in the next room.

***

December 24, 1996  
Dean flopped down on the sofa with apparent nonchalance, but Sam could tell that his eyes and mouth tightened slightly in pain.

He bit his lip. Dean hadn’t come out of his room since Mrs. MacElroy had left the day before, choosing to forgo both dinner and breakfast, a very rare occurrence. Judging from Dean’s nonappearance and John’s guilty silence, the whipping Dean had received from their father had been hell. Sam wanted to say something sympathetic, but he knew his brother would just shoot him down. “Are you okay, Dean?” he asked finally, his conscience winning out in the end.

“Just peachy,” Dean snapped. “Or at least I was until you opened your fat mouth.”

“You weigh more than I do,” Sam retorted, never as quick with the insults as his brother but sure that attacking Dean’s vanity would upset him. Dean just sighed heavily.

“Never mind. I really don’t want to get into this again.”

Sam stared at his brother. “You always want to make fun of me.”

Dean shrugged, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Yeah, well, seeing as how I’m so good at it….” He shook his head. “You know, Dad’s pretty serious about the whole keeping it undercover thing."

 _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ “So what clued you in, the fact that he hasn’t taken his belt to your ass since you forgot to salt that one window in Pittsburgh?”

Dean’s flinch was obvious this time. The demon they’d been exorcising had managed to escape, and even though John found it within two hours he hadn’t been able to sit for two days.

“So, life in Mayberry,” Dean continued, pretending he hadn’t heard Sam, although his cheeks were still tinged with pink. “How do you think the little Catholic schoolgirls are? Cause I was watching this video where two of them—”

“I don’t want to know,” Sam cut in hastily. “You’re really perverted, you know that?”

Dean smiled wickedly, pleased at his brother’s reaction. “Come on, Sammy, you know you like slutty schoolgirls just as much as the next guy. Oh, wait, I guess you’re just jealous of them.”

“Ha, ha,” Sam said. “You’re hilarious, Dean, really. Well, you seem to be back to normal, at least.”

Dean pretended to shine his fingernails on his jacket, casually. “What can I say, I’m a hardass.”

“Learned from the best,” John said from the doorway, and both of the boys jumped at the sound of his voice. “So you’re feeling better.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dean, his good humor gone again. Even if John was being parental, he could morph at any moment into the drill sergeant, the man who commanded respect and didn’t tolerate careless mistakes.

“You ever going to let someone see the weapons again?”

“No, sir,” said Dean. Sam felt his blood boil as he watched his brother groveling. Anyone else would have gotten some serious sarcasm from Dean. But when John was being serious, Dean just seemed to lie down and take it like a perfect little soldier. It was so uncharacteristic of Dean that it was disgusting.

“Good,” John said, the stern lines around his eyes softening slightly at his son’s nervous apprehension. Dean was forgiven and they could move on to the practical aspect. “Now, about these hunting trips we’re supposed to be taking.”

“Sir?”

“I’m holding you responsible for learning everything there is to know about hunting, in addition to your schoolwork and any jobs we might be doing on the side. You are then to plan a trip we can invite that boy on, and make sure we look like professionals. You’ll also ensure that he has a miserable time and never wants to go again. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean didn’t look too happy about the amount of work that entailed. Sam could see him doing the math in his head, realizing how much it would interfere with his plans.

“I know it may seem a bit excessive—” John began, and his gentler tone encouraged Dean to act like himself again.

“I mean, really, Dad, couldn’t you just give me another whipping and get it over with?” he asked, only half kidding, and John couldn’t help smiling.

“If it makes you feel better, this is hunting season,” he said. “Work hard and we can have the whole business finished by your birthday.”

Dean nodded and Sam knew that he would probably have done all the necessary planning by Christmas Day. Instead of leaving it at that, however, John came and sat down beside his boys, clearly preparing to have an important conversation. Sam felt understandably queasy, considering that both he and Dean were already having trouble sitting down.

“Now, boys, I want you to tell me what you were fighting about yesterday,” John said firmly.

Dean spoke up immediately. “I was teasing Sam and he was trying to work, and I let it get a little out of control. It was really my fault. We both said some things we shouldn’t have said and I ended up hitting him and things just went from there.”

“Is that true, Sammy?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam. “But it was really my fault too. Dean just kind of smacked me, and I lost my temper and we both just…”

John sighed. “I understand.” He looked at his sons, shaking his head. “But boys, you’re too old to be getting into little fights about that sort of thing. We don’t have the luxury of acting like children in this family. If we’re hunting together, we need to work as a team. I need to know that you boys have each other covered and aren’t going to let petty arguments or resentments color your fighting.”

“I’d never do anything to put Sammy in danger, sir,” Dean said earnestly. “Even if we get into it sometimes I never mean anything by it. You know that, right?”

“I do know that,” John said. “And that’s good. You need to have your brother’s back. But this means all the time, not just when we’re hunting. You both need to work on respecting each other and acting more like adults and less like children. Do you understand me?” He was serious, but not angry. Sam and Dean both nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said emphatically.

“Yes, sir,” Sam echoed. He couldn’t help feeling a little pleased that his father had told Dean to grow up too.

“Good. Now, I’m going to go get dressed for Mass and I expect both of you to do the same.” John left the living room and Dean immediately smirked at his younger brother.

“No more picking on me, Sammy,” he said.

“Idiot,” Sam muttered.

“Douche,” Dean shot back.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Dean! Do _not_ make me come in there!” John called.

“No, sir,” Dean replied hastily, and he left, shooting Sam a grin. Sam grimly thought that if John heard him swearing at Dean, he would have been fidgeting all through Mass on those hard wooden pews.

“At least I look better in a suit than you do,” he said, but Dean was long gone.

***

“Feel like a freaking lawyer in this,” Dean grumbled.

John shook his head. “Enough, Dean. Sammy,” he called, catching a glance of his youngest son in the rearview mirror. “Why don’t you have your seatbelt on?”

“He doesn’t want to wrinkle his nice dress,” Dean said snidely.

“I said that’s enough, Dean,” John said sharply. Sam buckled his seatbelt before things got worse for either of them.

They pulled into the parking lot at St. Benedict’s, then got out of the Impala, Dean a little slower than usual. John led the way into the sanctuary, looking like he did this every day of his life.

The service was in Latin. Sam tried to pay attention at first, picking out words he recognized from various exorcisms and incantations. Dean, on the other hand, seemed preoccupied with checking out the girl in the pew across the aisle. John, for his part, was extremely attentive.

After less than half an hour, however, Sam felt Dean elbow him in the ribs. “Oww!” he hissed, causing John to turn sharply and give them both a look that clearly boded ill for them. After John had turned away again to face the priest, now reading from a Bible, Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam and jerked his head slightly forward.

Looking up, Sam saw the MacElroy family seated in the pew in front of the one occupied by the buxom redhead. He frowned, unsure as to why Dean was pointing them out. Dean raised his finger, pointing straight at Robbie, the “little shit” he had invited hunting.

Sam caught his breath. The boy was squirming in his seat, his face contorted. As the priest read on, his discomfort only grew. Sam flicked his eyes at John, and Dean shook his head. Seizing a pen left in the pew to sign the membership pad, he wrote hastily on his bulletin “he said no hunting. but this kid is acting like he’s freaking possessed.”

Sam bit his lip, but Dean had the familiar stubborn glint in his eye. He was hunting and nobody, not even John Winchester, could stop him.

Just then the matter was settled. The word “Christo” fell from the priest’s lips and Robbie immediately got up to leave the sanctuary, leaving his mother and younger siblings gaping after him. As he passed, Sam saw a curl of smoke coming from his sleeve. Dean was up and after him in a heartbeat.

John tightened his fingers around Sam’s arm, preventing him from following. As the minutes passed, however, and Sam shot his father pleading looks, John nodded almost imperceptibly and let him go. He was careful not to run until he had passed the doors into the narthex.

He heard voices to the right and followed them, to find that Dean had only just caught up with Robbie.

“Hey, man, if you need to take a leak there’s no need to be so fucking—” Robbie was saying, but Dean had slammed him up against the wall.

“I know what you are, now why don’t you show your true colors?” he spat. “I don’t have time for this.”

“What the hell, man?” Robbie asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice.

“Stop, Dean!” Sam called, racing towards them.

“He locked me out of the bathroom,” Dean said. “God knows it could have gotten away by now…”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Robbie repeated.

“Christo,” Sam said automatically. Robbie looked at him blankly.

“It’s too late,” Dean said bitterly. He did not, however, release Robbie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Coming out of the bathroom and having you jump me!” Robbie said angrily, trying to break Dean’s grip on his collar.

“Before that!” Dean spat. “Why did you leave the church?”

“Jesus,” said Robbie, and Dean blinked in surprise. “I had a fucking lighter in my pocket and when I sat on it, it got turned on somehow. It was fucking burning a hole in my sleeve.” He held up a sopping arm as proof.

“Oh.” Dean released Robbie, who immediately got away from the wall.

“You have some serious issues, you know that?” he asked. “You must be higher than I am.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Sam said. “I was trying to keep an eye on him, but…can you please not tell our dad?”

“And have to explain to my mama that I was smoking? Don’t worry,” said Robbie. “What’s he on, anyway?”

“Acid,” Sam said. He had no idea what the effects of acid were. Thank God Robbie just thought Dean was high…

“Right,” Robbie said. “Look, let’s get back in there before somebody starts thinking we’re up to something. Oh, and there’s a party next Monday at Trisha Yearling’s house if you want to come.”

“Sorry about that,” Dean said awkwardly. “It’s just you were on fire and…”

“Acid does shit to you,” Robbie said. “Don’t worry.”

The three of them made their way back into the sanctuary just as their rows were going up for Communion at the altar. Sam and Dean slipped into place behind their father, who gripped Dean’s wrist quickly to express his displeasure. Out of nerves, Dean started shaking slightly, which worried Sam more than anything else he’d seen since they left Utah.

The remaining few minutes of the service seemed like years to Sam and Dean, but John was able to join in the singing of a last Christmas hymn with relative ease.

As they passed out the doors, the priest stopped them. “I’m Father Roman,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

“John Winchester,” John replied, shaking his hand. “My sons Sam and Dean. We just moved to Harrison.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to meet you and I hope to see you back at St. Benedict’s,” said the man, smiling. “A Merry Christmas to you all.”

“Merry Christmas, Father,” said John, and they left the church.

Safely inside the Impala, John turned to his eldest son. “Dean Winchester, what in the hell were you doing in there?”

“I…shit,” said Dean, dropping his gaze. He knew he’d messed up, knew that John would be ready to tear him to pieces over this…and it was all for nothing.

“Give me an answer now, Dean!” In the backseat, Sam buried his head in his arms.

“The MacElroy kid was squirming and acting like he was in pain and then he left when they got to the mention of Jesus and there was smoke so I thought he was possessed and I followed him,” Dean said quickly. “Sir.”

“Despite my telling you that there was nothing supernatural in Harrison and you were not to do anything out of the ordinary?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dean. “I thought it was a demon, sir, and I didn’t want to let it go. I’m sorry.”

“Was it a demon?”

“No, sir, the stupid kid just accidentally sat on his lighter the wrong way and started to burn a hole in his shirt.”

“Dammit,” John swore, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you until we get home. You’re both going to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Dean, you come to the living room when you’re ready and we’ll deal with this.”

Dean winced, feeling his eyes start to burn at the thought of being spanked yet again. Still, he nodded his head miserably in acknowledgement of John’s order. He could feel Sam’s wide-eyed stare boring into the back of his neck, and he slouched down in his seat, flushing with embarrassment.

When the Impala finally pulled into the driveway, Dean hightailed it into the house, wanting to get away from Sam’s sympathetic glances and John’s disapproving scowl. He closed his bedroom door and sat down on his bed for a moment, trying to clear his head. Dammit, he didn’t want to get spanked again! It wasn’t fair, he had only been trying to help, and why did they have to move to this stupid little town anyway? His breathing was erratic and he blinked hard to keep the tears from spilling. After a few moments he got control of himself. Changing quickly into pajama pants and an old t-shirt, he headed back to face the music.

John was seated on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, when Dean walked into the living room. He had changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and Dean noted with relief that there was no belt anywhere in sight. John beckoned to Dean to come closer, and Dean trudged over to stand in front of his dad, his head hanging in shame.

“Dean, do you realize the stupidity of what you did?” John asked tiredly.

“Yes, sir,” said Dean quietly.

“Would you do the same thing again?”

Dean thought about that for a minute. “Yes, sir, because it sure as hell looked like demonic possession,” he said, looking his father straight in the eye despite the trepidation he was actually feeling.

“I gave you an order, Dean, and you disobeyed it,” John snapped. “I ought to take my belt to your ass again.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dean, with more courage than he felt.

“From now on, I don’t care if you think it’s a matter of life and death, you check with me before you disobey a direct order. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re going to stop swearing at me, or you’re gonna find yourself with a sore butt and a soapy after taste, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, mildly shocked. His father hadn’t threatened him with _that_ particular punishment in years, and he had hoped they were past all that.

“I really should spank some sense into you,” John said sternly, standing up and causing Dean to take a small step back in apprehension. “But it’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve had a rough couple days, so I’m going to be lenient. Bend over the couch, please.”

Dean obeyed reluctantly, not sure of what John’s idea of “lenient” actually entailed. Once he was in position, John wrapped his arm securely around his waist to steady him. Raising his hand, he gave his firstborn ten swats on his sensitive backside, spanking just hard enough to leave a mild sting that would probably last until Dean fell asleep. Dean gasped softly as the first spank landed, but he bore the rest without so much as a whimper. When John was finished, he helped the teenager to his feet before guiding them both to sit down on the couch. Dean grimaced as his rear end came in contact with the couch, causing John to chuckle softly in spite of himself and put his arm around his son’s shoulders.

“Dad, do you think in the spirit of Christmas, you could maybe go one day without whaling on me?” Dean asked, cracking a smile.

John raised an eyebrow. “Dean, do you think in the spirit of Christmas, you could maybe go one day without giving me a reason to spank you?” he retorted.

Dean lowered his eyes slightly. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

John sighed, tilting the boy’s chin so they were looking each other in the eye. “I know this has been a big adjustment, Dean, and I know you’ve had a hard time these past few days, but this hasn’t been easy on me, either. Just try and stay out of trouble for a while, for both our sakes. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good,” John said, noticing Sam peering tentatively behind the doorframe. He motioned for his youngest to come in, and Sam did, apparently relieved that John hadn’t killed Dean. “You ready for bed, Sammy?”

“Yes, sir.” Honestly, Sam couldn’t imagine staying awake any longer. Despite Dean’s teasing, he didn’t _really_ get excited for Christmas anymore. Well, maybe a little, but definitely not enough to keep him awake after the last couple of days. Dean, on the other hand, would probably spend hours trying to find a comfortable position, and since he knew his older brother was okay Sam couldn’t resist a small smirk. It was quickly wiped off his face when John spoke again.

“All right, boys, that’s all for tonight, then.” John said, relieved that tomorrow was a day where they could simply relax as a family. “But I’m warning you, if either of you ever put us in danger of getting caught again, we will be out of this town before you can say Christo. And trust me, the ride will be particularly painful for you.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys responded quickly. Den winced a little at the thought.

“Now, both of you get to bed, and if you’re lucky, you’ll wake up in the morning to find some presents from Santa.” John said mischievously. “Of course, with your behavior as of late, it might be more appropriate if he left you switches in your stockings…”

“Dad!” Sam protested, his face turning bright red. Dean didn’t respond to his father’s jibes, just stared at him with an expression that was a combination of horror and indignation.

John laughed, relishing this moment of light-hearted fun. “Bed, you two,” he said kindly, giving them each a hug and a kiss on the forehead, which Dean quickly wiped away.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Dean said over his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas,” echoed Sam, hurrying after his brother.

“Merry Christmas, boys.”

 _And Happy Freaking New Year,_ thought Sam. They both knew how lucky they’d been, and that a spanking from John would have been the least of their worries if Robbie had realized what Dean was trying to do. Well, from now on they would just have to be normal…as normal as they could.


End file.
